Regret

What is regret? A memory Of a thought A feeling An emotion An action An inaction? I’m really not sure. But all I know is It hurts. The memory The thought The feeling The emotion The action The inaction. It tears me apart From the inside out. With nowhere to turn. No way to say I am sorry. No way to sigh with relief. No way to ask forgiveness. No. Regret Is far more complicated. Than a memory A thought A feeling An emotion An action or An inaction. It is all encompassing And all consuming And unrelenting. And it sticks with you. You see it when you look in the mirror Or when you make your coffee Or when you pour your wine When you laugh at a joke Or grimace at an awkwardness It stays with you Wanted or not It’s like an old friend And you wear it like A scratchy jersey. Heavy Irritating Constantly “there”. Engulfing you with unwanted warmth. Sticky. And needing to shower. It doesn’t warrant An escaping tear Or show of emotion No. It warrants truth. It warrants an awkward silence A nod of recognition. It warrants an apology. Regret. A hollow echo of something That should or should not have happened. I really don’t know. Unfortunately. But, what I do know, Is that it hurts. And it will continue to hurt Until I no longer have breath. And all I can say Wholeheartedly Is that I am so sorry.